Oh, The Mask She Wore
by weeeell
Summary: Éponine Jondrette is the best actor in all of Paris. She was so good, in fact, that no one even knew it. É/E *ABANDONED*
1. The World She Knew

_A/N: So, an annoying rodent has been tormenting me for the past few days. I was about ready to up and call animal services on it when someone politely informed me that it was a "plot bunny" and not something to be taken light of. Apparently, to get rid of it I have to do what it wants…. It's threatening to bite me unless I write this!_

Éponine Jondrette was the best actress in the whole of Paris. She was so good, in fact, that no one even knew it. Her real emotions rarely surfaced, and the mask she wore was smooth and no cracks could be found. She would play a role to its full extent, all memories of her past life left behind as she immersed herself in the role.

_You are a lady_, she would tell herself, and she was. Her rags turned into silky clothes with one muttered word, and she took on the air of a rich, beautiful lady. To those who passed her by, she was nothing more than a bourgeois with nothing better to do than parade the streets in extravagant clothing, giggling behind her fan, and flirting with young and handsome bourgeois boys. She fooled those who saw her with ease, all the while expertly pocketing their fancy rings and wallets. At times she thought that she should feel some guilt, but she never thought much into it. _Little they know,_ she chided, _little they care_.

Éponine spent her time this way, often a rich lady, some nights a whore, some days just the street rat she was. Her father had stopped paying for her efforts long ago, because he knew Éponine understood what the consequences would be if she refused to help him in his-for lack of a better word- business. Oh, Éponine knew far too well.

She had long stopped feeling anything- for the beatings, the guilt, the loneliness- yet, there was something that always made her heart twitch in ways she did not want it to, and that something was Marius Pontmercy. He saw her without her finery and accepted her for who she was. Marius Pontmercy accepted Éponine, but she knew he would never feel anything but pity and friendship for her.

In order to ease her heart, she would sometimes sneak into the revolutionary meetings he often attended. There, Éponine, dressed as a dirty gamin, was allowed to peek into a world she had never known. It was a world where everyone counted, where students spoke in loud voices of better days; a world where girls were not forced to whore themselves out to stay alive.

She knew she did not belong in this world, but it didn't hurt to pretend just for a little while. How much damage could one more little lie do?

Other than Marius, one of the young revolutionaries stood out from the rest. Their golden-haired leader, Enjolras, had been blessed with the gift that allowed him to captivate crowds with a sentence. He was a born leader, and although **she** knew that things could never change, when he spoke, she had no choice but to believe.

But then, when she felt she had outstayed her welcome, she would leave that room of dreams. Staring at the sun too long, a shadow could get burnt.

Every night, she would leave the meetings and go back to the streets, to her life where she was one in a million starving bodies begging for the gods on high to have mercy on their pitiful lives, one in a million girls dreading the nights of fear. Éponine was one of the miserables.

_A/N: Was it good? I might continue, but I don't know... I actually liked how this turned out. I may just leave it as a one-shot. Also, I know what Hugo meant by Les Miserables... guys, I'm tired. _


	2. The Angel

Marius Pontmercy's soul was on fire. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen in all his years on this planet, and he credited it to the fact that she was not, in all seriousness, from this world. How could someone so angelic and glowing, with her golden hair and eyes of deep blue- how could she **not** be an angel?

He knew, the moment their eyes- their souls-locked, that he was in love. Would an angel like her ever find it in her heart to love him? Him, who his friends call "Idiot Pontmercy"? Him, who was so awkward and stuttered? Him, with his freckled face and strange hair? He did not see how it could be, but he knew that, whether or not he had a chance, he must find her again.

"Eponine!" he breathlessly exclaimed, turning to the girl beside him. "Who was that girl?"

"Some bourgeois two-a-penny thing." She huffed.

"Eponine, find her for me!"

"What will you give me?" she replied cockily, tilting her head.

"Anything!" Oh, to see her again…

"Got you all excited, now? But God knows what you see in her," Did she look sad? "Aren't you all delighted, now?"

Ah! He dug in his pocket, pulling out a few coins. Surely…

"No," she looked down, ashamed, "I don't want your money, sir."

"Eponine," he looked deep into her eyes. "Do this for me. Discover where she lives."

She nodded.

"'Ponine!" he could barely contain the excitement in his voice, "You're the best friend I've ever had! Thank you!" He hugged her, twirling her around.

"Anything for you, Monsieur." she said, smiling.

As he ran to tell his friends of the news, he turned back and yelled. "Thank you!"

He was too far away to hear the whispered words that came out of Eponine's broken mouth.

"Little he knows," she spoke sadly to herself, "Little he sees."

_**A/N:** So, when I was doing a character study on Eponine, I realized that Marius is the one that's hard to put your head around. Not to say Eponine easy to write, but as most of us can relate, it's easier to reach her mindset. Idiot Pontmercy, (yes, that's Marius...) however, is a much harder task to take on. I ended up writing about three pages before coming up with this, in an effort to understand him. Ehmm... review? How am I doing?_


	3. Cracking

Éponine could not have been more disappointed in herself. Not only had she let herself feel something for Marius Pontmercy, she had let it go so far as causing a crack in her mask. These things ought not so to be. Éponine was a Thénardier, no matter how many times she had insisted she be called by the name of Jondrette. Thénardiers did not fall subject to the foolish notions of love and hope. It was not heard of.

Marius' love of his life, his "angel" had only furthered the crack. She would lead him to his love, and leave it be. Had she really thought that he would want her? _Stupid me_, she thought to herself, setting off into the night-off to deliver her beloved into the arms of another.

* * *

She had found the house with ease. She knew her way around, she did. Hadn't she told him so?

"It's this way." she whispered, tugging at his hand.

He picked her up, twirling her around. She couldn't help smiling along with him. His smile was like a child's, so innocent and contagious.

"Stop, Monsieur!" she squealed. "We're here."

His breath hitched as he walked up to the gate. There, beyond the gate, stood a blonde-haired fairy.

_Alouette, _Éponine smiled remorsefully, remembering the childhood nickname. She could smell the irony, smothering her like a blanket. What a nasty blow of fate, certainly.

Indeed, she was perfect. Something Éponine, ragged and dirty, would never be. Éponine let herself fall back into the shadows, where she belonged.

She stood watching the two stare at each other, and even through her jealousy she could tell they were meant for each other through the way they stared into each others' eyes. _So, this is love._

"Who is this hussy?" a harsh, much too familiar voice sounded behind her, and she whirled around. _Father._

"It's your brat Éponine, don't you know your own kid?" another voice, belonging to one of the Patron Minette, no doubt, rasped. _No. Not here, not now._

"Why's she hanging about you?"

"'Ponine, get on home. We're enough here without you."

"I know this house, I tell you-there's nothing here for you." she pleaded. _Go away, go away, go away_."Just the old man and the girl. They live ordinary lives."

He smacked her across the face. "Don't interfere." he hissed.

"I'm gonna scream! I'm gonna warn them here!" she said, panicking. Her love would never be felt, but Marius and Cosette had the chance and she could not let it be on her head for tearing them apart.

"One little scream and you'll regret it for a year!" her father raged, turning his back to her. She would regret this, and he didn't have to tell her for her to know it to be true. A year seemed about right, give or take.

She pulled all her courage into her shaking lungs, and dared. Éponine screamed.

Every single face turned to her, her father's full of rage, Marius and Cosette's shocked and scared. But Éponine, she was smiling. For once in her life, she had stood up to her father. Perhaps there was something good to her, after all. _Not good enough for Marius,_ she mused, but did not have time for remorse. She needed to get away, and fast.

Her father's angry curses and the confused jabbering of Marius followed her down the slippery streets, but she barely heard them. She would not stop. She could never entirely fix the mask, no, but she was strong. Or at least, that's what she told herself. Éponine Thénardier- she was the best actor in all of Paris.


	4. The Ways of Marble

Her father had found her. It had only been a matter of time, but damn, it **hurt. **Her bones ached, and even after she had escaped him, she could still feel the hands and taste the iron of blood in her mouth. Nothing a little fog couldn't fix.

Éponine had fled to the streets, as she always did after a bad beating. In fact, she spent most of her time wandering the streets, mainly pickpocketing. She used her mastery of illusion to charm her appearance into that which it was not, in hopes of stalling her father's men from finding her. Perhaps it was the magic, or perhaps it was the frilly bonnets and jewelry-embellished dresses, but Éponine had found she could cloud her view as well as the rest of the world's, sheltering her from herself, if only for an hour. Plus, the puffy sleeves covered the fast blossoming bruises on her arms.

She had just stepped onto the crumbling sidewalk when a voice floated to her ears, causing her to flinch. Just the person she had been hoping to miss.

"'Ponine!" Marius called again, running to catch up with her, a certain annoyed-looking revolutionary tagging along behind him. "I was hoping I would find you! I still haven't thanked you for that night."

She did not have the chance to reply before the blonde leader approached them, eyebrows knit in obvious frustration.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" she giggled. Better tread carefully.

"Ah, yes. Very…" he cleared his throat, eyes stormy. "Lovely. So," he gestured to her finery, "Are you rich?"

"Oh, yes." She giggled again. _Act dumb_, her father always said, _easier to get into their heads that way_. "This dress is nothing compared to some of the things in my closet. I have a pretty plum colo-"

Enjolras snorted. "Madam, excuse me for saying so, but you severely underestimate my apathy. I was asking on account of the people Paris who starve in their rags while you bask in the glow of riches. Do you even know what if feels like to be hungry?"

_What do you know of hunger, rich boy?_ she wanted to ask, but held her tongue, instead opting to keep playing the empty-headed bourgeois girl.

"I diet." she chirped, smiling cheekily. "Who cares about the poor, anyway, right? We're better than those rats."

His eyes flared, sparkling with something more than anger. It was quite beautiful, actually. He glared at her a few seconds more before letting out a breath of air.

"I should never have expected a person like you to understand." he spat.

Marius could stand it no longer, having two of his best friends fight like that. "Enjolras, please. You don't know her. She saved me-"

"You're right." the blonde interrupted, turning on his heel. "And I wouldn't like to. I'll see you at the cafe, I expect?" Enjolras was speaking to Marius, but Éponine just couldn't resist the urge to irritate this man.

"Of course. In fact, why don't we walk together?" she offered her arm, grinning mischievously to herself. Who did he think he was, anyway?

Enjolras, being the gentleman he was, could not refuse her arm, knowing how unseemly it would look. Reluctantly, he took her arm in his and they began the walk to the cafe.

"I actually have to go." Marius said, smiling at the change. "I have a meeting with my love." Enjolras rolled his eyes, and Éponine suppressed a sob. _I am_ _strong_, she reminded herself. The three split into groups, giving nods of goodbye.

"So, Monsieur, how come you've taken up such a strange pastime?" she remarked, genuinely curious and tired of silence. "Find poor people interesting?"

He flinched, as if he had taken her remark to heart. "I suppose. But not in the way you're thinking. Not that you would understand."

"Ah, Monsieur." she smirked. "You did it again. Said, 'you wouldn't understand'. Who are 'people like me', exactly?"

He looked shocked for a second before regaining his composure, as if the fact that she had a brain was surprising.

"Mademoiselle, I do not mean you any offense." he said, struggling to put his majestic opinions into simple mortal sentences, no doubt. "I only feel that you are too occupied with your dresses and jewels to see the suffering around you."

"You know nothing of me, sir," she said, withholding a snort of distaste at the words on his lips. How opposite from the truth they were. "Please refrain from speaking as if you do."

Once again, Enjolras was caught unaware. _Not expecting that, eh, rich boy? _she smirked to herself.

They were silent the rest of the way to the cafe, and he did not speak to her the rest of the evening. Éponine could not help but wonder why his friends referred to him as the "Marble Man". He was so readable, if you only knew how to look, and so uneducated in the ways of the mask.

In that room of dreams, of men who were dreams and hope personified, Éponine felt just a tiny bit at home. Invisible or not, she identified with the cause and wholly agreed with what the young revolutionaries spoke of. And, throughout the whole evening, Éponine could not help but watch the golden-haired leader. He was not marble, but she had put it on herself to find out what Enjolras was truly made of.


End file.
